


Which Is Which

by arcstark (QuintessentialNutcase)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bucky's done with their shit, Childhood Trauma, Flashbacks, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard's an asshat, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Beta Read, PTSD like symptoms, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Slow Burn, The good old days where everyone lived in the tower an no one turned to dust, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, in case you can't tell I'm something of a fan, not thor: ragnarok compliant, tagging is hard, tbh those last three are barely there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 23:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19283812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuintessentialNutcase/pseuds/arcstark
Summary: Five times Tony flinched, and the one time he didn't.Or, in which Steve's a moron, Tony's a human dumpster fire, and Bucky just wants everyone to calm the fuck down and talk to each other.





	Which Is Which

~ 1 ~

It was, unfortunately, ‘game day’ in the tower.

This tended to involve a great deal of shouting, cheering, cursing, and crying from the local fan base, while Tony and Bruce hid away in the labs. However, due to a series of unfortunate events involving the world’s favourite enormous green rage monster, the labs were out of order for a few more days, and Bruce was apologetic and distant. This left Tony in the common floor’s kitchen, trying to connect JARVIS up to the Walmart toaster Wilson brought round after another incident involving Barnes’s left arm and unawareness of the laws of conduction.

This was until the game in the next room got interesting.

“They pull one more move like that and I’ll streak to Ohio, I promise everyone, just- Go! No!, Oh for fuck’s sake!” Clint tried to bargain with the elusive ‘game gods’.

“Clint, shut up and stop stealing my beer.” Romanoff kept him in his place.

“Why do they always run the long way around again?” Thor didn’t quite understand the game, “Oh! What a mighty performance!” But enjoyed it nevertheless

Tony could always tell when something outrageous happened because the momentum of two super-soldiers throwing their weight forward made the furniture creak like a haunted house.

“Come on! What the hell is he doing? I could’ve made that in the thirties!”

“Steve, you couldn’t breathe for most of the thirties – wait, are they gonna let him do that? My grandma could see that’s bullshit and she died before the Archduke!”

The Brooklyn boys were getting used to the televised games, and it did wonders to get Barnes out of his shell, but with every shout-

“Fuck!” Tony spat, lifting his finger to his lips, and tossing his screwdriver onto the counter. One too many hand slips and he’d be the Einstein lookalike of the week.

That was the issue with the tower these days, after months of harmony, or if not harmony then fraternity, and then months of silence, to now have everyone back was just jarring.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like having the team back together, but something had been off for a while. When Ross declared Rogers and his crew criminals, Tony had fought tooth and nail to get them acquitted, which wasn’t easy without them there to defend themselves, and Tony refused to use that goddamn flip phone unless there was an imminent extinction level event coming his way. It took weeks and weeks of negotiation, amendments, and grovelling, but he beat the accords into shape, smooth talked Rogers’ way out of a prison sentence for him, and then renovated the whole tower to keep everything central, and for old time’s sake.

When Rogers, Wilson, Barnes, and Wanda came back it was like Christmas morning. When Nat finally showed up, Clint in tow, there were kid pictures and cutesie drawings galore for everyone to coo over. When Bruce and Thor returned to Earth, well, Tony nearly swooned for someone to blow shit up with again.

In terms of Steve, things were swell, they really were, right up until he flung his arm out too fast or laughed a little too suddenly and sharply. Hell, if the man sneezed Tony nearly pissed himself. He had a loud sneeze.

So, suffice to say, game day was Tony’s idea of hell.

He peered around the doorway to observe for a moment.

They watched with rapt attention. One arm of the sofa was occupied by Natasha, who idly sipped her beer and dangled her legs over Clint’s shoulders where he sat on the floor, cross-legged, his back to her. The other arm had Thor’s fist drumming on it, roughly in time to the chants and fanfares coming from the speaker system. Between them was Bucky, one hand balling his long hair into a fist in despair, the other, glinting in the light, cradled a long-forgotten plate, dusted with sandwich crumbs and sometimes home to Romanoff’s beer when she needed to slap Clint for something.

Steve sat in the armchair to Thor’s left, one leg folded under him, one hand resting on that knee, the other kneading, squeezing, and otherwise teasing the worn arm of the chair with his nervous energy. He was still sporting the beard of his fugitive days, which no doubt hid him entirely from the authorities when combined with a baseball cap and some sunglasses, as was the general convention of things.

There was something mesmerising about the way his focus was so strongly set on the game, every twist and turn of the thing was visible in the minute shifts in his features, or they would be for someone as well versed in baseball as Tony was in Steve.

The picture was beautiful, really. Five friends so lost to the world that the Other Guy could walk in, grab a cup of coffee, and say ‘hey’ without them even looking away from the screen. Tony found himself watching them more and more in recent days, wondering from which of them the next earth-shattering bombshell would come; or who would be the first to tell Barnes to get a haircut; or whether Steve had found those articles with the pictures Pepper had tried really hard to get deleted or the one from 2006 that even Tony had tried to get removed; or whether Barton and Romanoff had ever banged, and if so, which he could trick into telling him about it. Normal stuff.

It was a wonderful tableau of domestic peace, right until someone reprehensible did something barbaric somewhere, presumably to someone, and then it erupted.

Nat’s beer was sloshed over Barton’s head, who spluttered indignantly; Thor made a non-committal shout which seemed to be more about getting involved in the feeling of the room than about the game; Barnes rocked forwards and let out a pained sound, the sound of ceramic cracking around metal ringing out; and Steve shot up and out of his chair with all the speed of someone experimented on by a wacko scientist and then frozen for seven decades. His shout would have probably been a whole different kind of triggering in the right circumstances, but here, in Tony’s home, without a suit, in a room full of people, watching the same kind of game he’d grown up listening to from the door of his dad’s office, well they really weren’t those kind of circumstances.

When Steve’s arms moved in a blur and his voice raised from nought to sixty in less than a heartbeat, a full body shiver went through Tony, his hand coming up to his own chest, pressing firmly against the ring of scar tissue there, for a split second he felt the pressure of vibranium cleaving through gold-titanium alloy. He was blinking back tears and making for the elevator before he realised that he was holding his breath and couldn’t quite force himself to change that.

“Pent-house, J,” he gasped as he leant against the wall and gripped the handrail tight, eyes closed, counting inhales and exhales, listing digits of pi, and recalling the specs for the latest version of the reactor in his suit.

Slowly, he regained a modicum of calm, and by the time the doors slid open at his floor, he was breathing normally, with linear thoughts, and heavy eyes.

When he reached the minibar, he slumped, taking a few swigs from the nearest bottle, bourbon, and mentally berating himself for being unable, yet again, to keep his shit together when the good captain made one (1) loud sound.

~ 2 ~

‘It is nice to be back’, Steve thought, as he strolled to the tower’s gym one night.

Sure, the accords still made his skin itch, but the amendments made were enough to give them some autonomy, and their stunt as fugitives made people very unwilling to deny their permission requests. Making Captain America public enemy number one, again, and still not actually catching him really wasn’t something any politician wanted on their record.

He was stopped in his tracks as soon as he stepped over the threshold by the sight of Tony, shirtless, throwing punches at one of the many bags available. His face was contorted into a concentrated scowl, the power behind his punches suggested that he had a few things to work through, and the slight sway in his step suggested that he had _had_ a few things to help with that. Steve stood for a moment, under the pretence that he should know more about Tony’s fighting style to plan missions, as though this one work out was going to give him some magical glimpse that years of fighting side by side together hadn’t.

Without his permission, Steve found his eyes sweeping over Tony’s body, the muscles in his arms tensing as he pulled his fist back, the tendons in his forearms as his shot forward, the bunching of his shoulder muscles as he shifted on his toes, the way those sweatpants clung to his ass, all of which were, he thought, utterly vital to catalogue for completely professional purposes.

When he finally remembered that he was here to tire himself out so he could get a few hours of sleep tonight, he gave himself a slight shake, and then cleared his throat as loud as he dared.

Tony’s head whipped around, hands flying out to the bench he’d draped his shirt over.

“No need to get all dressed up on my account,” Steve hurriedly muttered, “It’s a warm night, don’t put yourself out.” He set his bag down beside Tony’s and pulled out his water, setting it beside Tony’s bottle of bourbon. “That stuff will kill you.” He added with a smirk, getting one in return.

“It’ll have to get in line these days. Good game earlier?” A strange expression flitted across Tony’s face.

“Yeah it was a good one, we didn’t win but it was close, we’ll have ‘em next time for sure.” He nodded and turned to the bag hanging beside Tony’s, hands now taped and ready to go, when a truly awful idea struck him.

“Hey, you want to go a few rounds?”

Tony paused and blinked in response, in a way that seemed to say literally everything except yes.

“It’s okay if you don’t, just figured it’s a little more interesting than hitting a bag all night.”

“You saying you’d rather hit me all night, Rogers?” Tony drawled, an amused smile across his lips that never boded well.

“You know damn well what I’m saying Stark, don’t make it weird,” So said his lips, as opposed to that very small and well-buried part of his brain that said, as always, ‘you’re damn right.’

Steve had known he wasn’t on the straight and narrow ever since a specific and memorable dream he’d had after he went to his first Stark Expo. That didn’t mean that he’d really spent much time on the subject, finding it generally better to tuck those thoughts away in a box and only crack it open when he really, really had to. It was a pretty full box these days.

The way Tony licked his lips and quirked up one corner of his mouth as he nodded and moved towards the ring had filled it to bursting.

Steve slid under the ropes and warmed up a little with a few jabs at air whilst Tony pulled on his shirt, probably for the best, and downed Steve’s bottle of water, also probably for the best.

“I warn you, I’ve had too much to drive but not too much to kick your ass.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, shellhead. You ready?”

He took a moment for he nodded, “Come at me, Frosty.” And he did.

Their to-and-fro exchanges of punches, kicks, and tackles seemed more like a dance than it did a fight, such is the way with comrades and teammates who know how to anticipate every move and were making no effort to overwhelm the other. Kinda been there, done that.

On a bad day, the occasional missed block, or too well aimed hit, might have brought back the crushing guilt he felt when Germany or Siberia popped into his mind, the way they’d fought earnestly, the way it had seemed like that or lose Bucky, his Bucky, all over again, for good this time, the way he’d had to choose between the man he owed his life to and the one he wanted to share his future with. But this was a good day.

In a poorly timed punch, Steve caught Tony’s wrist, and with a smirk he pulled it sharply, unbalancing them both and sending them to the ground. There was a tense moment as they lay there, Tony’s wrist gripped in Steve’s hand, their faces so close that Steve could feel Tony’s breath on his skin where he lay beneath him, slightly breathless. Then, laughter erupted from the pair as they rolled back to being upright and started over.

This time, the air seemed more charged. Tony’s punches had more power, and his blocks more give, every move brought them closer together, it seemed like it was building up to something, something magical.

Tony’s fist shot out in one final jab, passing right over Steve’s shoulder as he ducked it, the momentum and, undoubtedly, the liquor in Tony’s veins took him with it, spinning him around and pushing him into Steve’s chest, his back to Steve’s front, his legs starting to give way beneath him.

He’d done well, they’d been at it for what must have been hours but felt like a heartbeat, Steve could feel his own muscles sag in a moment of respite, he could hardly imagine how Tony felt.

“That’s probably a good place to call it a night,” He said with a chuckle, “don’t you think?” He looked down to where Tony was still leaning against his chest, his own heaving and his head nodding vehemently.

Tony made to turn around, no doubt to say goodnight or make some quip about older guys needing their beauty sleep, but it seemed that his legs weren’t on the same page, as he moved, they gave out completely, and would have sent him to the ground like a sack of potatoes if Steve hadn’t caught him.

His hand shot out to grab Tony’s shoulder, or side, or any part of him really, to keep him from going down. He ended up with a fist full of the front of his shirt, and an unstable Tony in his arms.

He went to say something about drinking and fighting, but as he looked down, he could see panic flare in Tony’s eyes, fixed on Steve’s hand. He could feel the way his already heaving chest seemed to speed up impossibly so, and his throat bobbed in gulps of air or spit, hell maybe even sick, the man did not look well.

“You okay?” He waited a moment, no response. “Tony, talk to me, what happened? You hurt?”

He twists Tony around with his other hand, keeping the point of contact with his front, searching his eyes for what had caused this discomfort. In a moment, something turned Tony from the confident and lithe fighter who moved with fluid grace, into this panic-stricken, nauseated, shaking, shell of himself.

“I’m fine, it’s all- I’m just- I’m fine, just gimme a few- a second, could you…?” he stumbled over his words, speaking them like apologies, his eyes still fixed on Steve’s hand. It took him a moment to register that Tony’s hands had come up to gesture vaguely at the bunched-up fabric of his shirt where it was still clenched in Steve’s fist.

With a cough, he released it, “Sorry, what happened?” He moves his hand to Tony’s shoulder in, what he hoped was, a comforting gesture.

Tony shrugged him off and moved to clamber out of the ring.

“It’s nothing, I’m just done for the night.” A small element of his usual arrogance had seeped into his speech once again, “good sparring though, thorough. Don’t worry, by morning we’ll all be pretending that I didn’t put you on your ass those times that I put you on your ass,” he paused to turn around, pointing with a feigned casual tone, “Did I mention that I managed to put you on your ass at least five times, or has that not come up yet? ‘Cause I totally di-“ a yawn broke through his speech.

“Alright, that’s me done,” He stooped to gather up his bag, took a swig from his own bottle. “No hard feelings, you’ve got a mean swing,” he turned to leave, pausing just before he reached the door, a more sincere expression on his face.

“Have a good night, Steve.” He said.

“You too, get some rest,” Steve replied, and then he was left wondering if he’d imagined the tears gathering in the corners of Tony’s eyes as the other man left with a slightly bitter laugh.

~ 3 ~

The only thing worse than sitting through a mission debriefing from Rogers after a stupidly long flight back home and just before a completely unnecessary medical exam was still having to do all of those things, but whilst Rogers was pissed at him.

So what, if one little hydra goon got a shot in at him and Romanoff? He took his eye off the ball for one second to blow that last weapons cache, they had his goddamn name on them, and they had to go.

But the good Captain seemed to see it differently.

As his bitter debrief ended, they filed out of the conference room, heading down to medical, Tony with them until Steve grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back into the conference room with a “just a minute” muttered through gritted teeth.

Back in the conference room, Rogers’ fury was back with a vengeance.

“What the hell were you thinking out there?” He spat, shoving roughly at Tony’s shoulder, “You could have gotten yourself killed, you coulda’ gotten Romanoff killed, jeopardized the whole goddamn mission!”

“Let up Rogers, it wasn’t that bad, and we got the-“ He began.

“I don’t care about the weapons caches, Tony, I care about the team making it out in one piece,” He paused for a moment, and Tony didn’t really know how to reply, “That’s my mission Tony, that’s my goddamn mission.” His voice cracked as he spoke, and he turned away from Tony, running a hand over his face.

“I had to get rid of them, Rogers, I couldn’t just leave them there for any asshole to find and blow a hole in someone with-”

“You were meant to have her back, Stark, Tasha took a hit to that back because you left her unguarded, again-”

“That was goddamn different, and you know it! There was a kid, Rogers, a little kid! You want me to put a trained assassin who can look after herself over a fuckin’ four-year-old?”

“No, of course not! But-”

“But what, Rogers, this isn’t the forties, the woman can look after herself!”

“That’s not the point, Stark!”

“Then what the hell is the point? I’ve seen her take down bigger guys than either of us with her little finger, she can take care of her-goddamn-self, and so can I!”

“The point is that your suicidal crap has gone too far, Tony, you can’t carry on like this!”

“I’m not suicidal, Cap!” His voice was hoarse from shouting, god knows how many people could hear them. He paused a moment and spoke more softly, “Trust me, if I was, you’d know all about it, we all would.”

Tony moved back against the wall from where he’d been slowly stepping closer and closer to Steve and slumped back.

“Rogers, I had to do it, right then and there, I had to, no other choice, I didn’t know it was an ambush, obviously, and in the same situation, I’d do it again, and so would you, we both know that. So, let’s not beat around the bush, you’re pissed because you told me to do something and I didn’t, that’s what this is.” He let out a humourless laugh, and Steve shook his head.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He cursed under his breath and leant back to lean on the table, letting out a deep, low breath. “Romanoff got hurt - you got hurt – because I didn’t see it in time, I didn’t see that you were gonna go for the weapons, that because they had your goddamn name on them, in that second, you’d chose them over the team, that’s not you, that’s what you’ve been conditioned to do, Tony, you’ve, you’ve got to, I don’t know,” He looked Tony straight in the eyes and considered him for a moment before replying. “You’ve gotta right your wrongs, even if they weren’t your wrongs in the first place, you can’t just leave them, it's compulsive, I know that, I do.”

Tony was silent for a moment, his brain replaying Steve’s words with unerring and uncomprehending accuracy. Steve got it and he was still pissed. He got that he had to, he couldn’t just leave them there, physically, couldn’t just let them be, he had to prod and poke. He reached up to rub his head, he always had to goddamn prod and poke, he couldn’t just leave things be. His breath came quicker, he fucked everything up and now Rogers, goddamn Rogers, was trying to take the blame for it, and he could just leave that either.

“What the fuck do you know?” The question hung in the air, Steve’s head shot up and his eyes met his, “No, really, what the fuck do you think you know about me, huh? It’s not compulsive, Rogers, it the only option, I would do it again consciously, and you know it, I’m not a team player, ask Romanoff, she compiled a pretty neat report on me back in the day, and nothing’s changed. I’m still me: Iron Man, yes; Tony Stark, no. That’s what it always comes down to, doesn’t it?” Steve was shaking his head, but that wasn’t going to stop Tony, he needed to fix this, he needed to make it stop, sure, he was making things worse, but it’d be better in the long run. “You’re happy for me to pay for everything, aren’t you?” Because people love being right, “And to live in my house, and eat my food, and I’m okay with that too, I am, really,” Especially when it came to Tony Stark, boy genius, teenage playboy, and grown up, selfish, man child, who has to have his own way, “But don’t kid yourself into thinking that we’re some big happy family, Captain, because we’re not. We have a job to do, and I’m here to do it, ‘cause, in case you didn’t hear, when it comes to the team, I didn’t make the cut!” He turned to leave, hoping that the storming out would really solidify the effect and he could go cry, throw up, and panic on the privacy of his own bathroom floor, when Steve grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him back against the wall.

“Shut the hell up, for one goddamn second,” He wasn’t shouting, not anymore, but he was close, far too close, and bitter. If Tony had been in any position to look closer or focus his eyeballs, he might have noticed the tear streaks down his face. “You’re on this team, Stark, whether you like it or not, and we’re with you ‘til the end of the line – I’m with you – but you need to drop this whole, this whole spoilt brat thing, you need to drop it, you’re not gonna push me away Tony,” He shook his head some more, but Tony’s was just swimming with the words ‘spoilt brat’ and how close he was and how loud he sounded and his hands on his shoulders, he couldn’t raise his arms, couldn’t shield his chest, couldn’t move, “So just drop it, please.” Steve punctuated every word with a short shake of Tony’s shoulders, and his mind was just a swirling mess, late nights in bed, woken by his dad –

“You’re a no goo’ go’amn spoil’ brat, you know tha’, kid, you’re nothin’, no’ withou’ me, no’ withou’ the company, no’ withou’ my money, you’re nothin’ kid, nothin’” His voice slurred with drink, his movements quick and purposeful with anger, just like Rogers’ were-

He needed to get the hell out of there now. He blinked a few times before he realised that Steve was still talking, still shaking him, he’d been so caught up in his head, Steve was saying something else now.

“Tony, what’s going on, Tony, can you hear me? Come on, what the hell?”

“J, get me, get me, up, somewhere, not here, not here.” He pulled himself away from Steve, dragging his arms from his grasp, practically falling through the door and towards the elevator, slumping against its wall for the second time this week. Christ, he really, really, needed to sort his shit out.

~ 4 ~

_Two Weeks Later_

“I don’t get it, Buck, I thought I was getting through to him, I really did,” Steve mumbled as he tossed the ball back to Bucky on the sofa.

“Well, have you actually tried talkin’ to him?” He replied, catching it with his new arm, and returning it.

“Yes!” They continued passing it between them as they spoke, Bucky’s movements slowly becoming less jerky and smoother.

“When he isn’t freaking out?”

“He freaks out every time I try, then he pulls away and I don’t see him for days, suddenly we’re back at square one, it’s infuriating, like this morning, all I did was say that those shoes reminded me of Howard’s, you know the ones with the stupid tasselly bits on the side. I was trying to extend a goddamn olive branch, and he all but runs out of the room saying something about JARVIS and subroutines.” He threw it back a little harder and it caught the metallic thumb on its end, rebounding into Bucky’s face, who shot daggers at him in return, “Sorry Buck, but you’re getting the hang of this one quicker.”

“Well, the last one was just so I could eat without using a Hydra weapon to hold a fork, just temporary. This one’s the real deal. Gotta hand it to him, Steve, he might be fucked up, but the man makes a damn good arm.”

“No one’s doubting the quality of his arms, Bucky.”

“What, you been checking out his arms?” A smirk twisted Bucky’s lips and he tilted his head to the side, hair falling out of the loose bun he had it all tied up in, “Snarky, short, brunet, takes none of your shit, has shot at you a couple of times, yeah he’s definitely your type.”

Steve spluttered in indignation, not quite denying or confirming.

“He’s not my type-”

“Well, the guy thing’s a new addition. But hey, welcome to the twenty-first-century pal, it’s all fine now, they’ve got parades and shit, rainbows everywhere, get with the times.” He rolled his eyes and began tossing the ball upwards in front of him with his left hand, and catching it again, no longer watching Steve, thankfully, as Steve could feel his features softening into something akin to adoration.

The times Bucky had decked a guy twice his size, so five times Steve’s, for even suggesting either of them were anything but straight as an arrow flashed before his mind, but so did the times he’d walked kids home after dark, or squared up to assholes laying their hands on a dame without her say so, the times the girls he’d brought out for a ‘double date’ with Steve had been far more interested in each other, and he and Steve had spent the night clowning around nearby.

The guy wasn’t perfect, but he was pretty damn close.

“What if he was?”

Bucky stopped and met Steve’s eyes, there was a beat of silence before his reply, in which Steve sort of wanted the ground to swallow him.

“Then get your shit together and talk to him, you stupid punk,” And with that he got up and retreated into his room, taking the ball and Steve’s afternoon plans with him.

Steve delayed for as long as he could before going to do exactly as Bucky said. He knew there’d be passive aggressive hell to pay if he didn’t.

Finding Tony was never remotely difficult, he had four modes: sleeping or drinking in the penthouse; working out or on missions; out at some meet and greet, press conference, or board meeting imposed by Pepper; or working in the lab.

Tony was, unsurprisingly in the lab, like he had been since breakfast, but there was none of the usual screaming music, if you could call that music, coming from the speakers, or the holographic light show of elements, suit parts, or engine specs. It was dark within and, when he tried his passcode, the door remained locked.

“Tony?” He called through the glass door, peering through it, “You in there?” He raised the mug of black sludge he’d poured from the bottom of the coffee maker, “I brought coffee, the black burnt crap you like, none of Romanoff’s fancy stuff or Bruce’s decaf.” There was no response except the slight sound of creaking leather from the sofa in the corner.

“You gonna make me talk about my feelings, Cap? Because I’m not letting you in if you are.” A coarse voice responded, muffled through the glass.

“The only promise I’m making here is coffee.” Steve could practically hear the eye-roll in the following sigh.

“J, temporary lockdown lift for the Capsicle here,” and with that the keypad gleamed green and the door swung open with a nudge. “Lights up by twenty per cent too, warm tone” the room began to glow a faint cream rather than the usual cold-white-blue.

“You doin’ okay? Kinda scared me this morning, yesterday too, what’s going on with you lately?” Steve moved and sat next to him, handing over the steaming mug.

“I had one condition, wonder boy, one condition,” He muttered between mouthfuls, “but, if you must know, migraine.”

Steve winced in sympathy, he didn’t get them frequently thanks to Dr Erskine, but when he did, they were awful. He lowered his voice when he spoke again.

“So, it wasn’t about what I said? The way you ran out of the room like that, thought I’d put my foot in it for sure.”

Tony let out an exhausted sound and flopped back onto the arm of the sofa, “I don’t know, Cap, I don’t fuckin’ know anymore. You freaked me out, I left, my head started pounding and then I felt like some bastard stuck a skewer through it, so I hauled up here for the day. It’s mostly gone now, just a few twinges here and there.” He blindly flapped a hand in dismissal.

“But it did freak you out? The thing about your dad, ‘cause I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear, you know that Tony, don’t you?” He brought a hand to rest on Tony’s knee, maybe not the most platonic gesture, but who cares. Tony placed his hand over Steve’s and met his eyes for a second.

“I know, it’s not about you, it’s just… He wasn’t who you thought Steve, he wasn’t… He wasn’t a good guy, he was just… Well, he was my old man, look at me, what do you think he was like? I didn’t get all these scars on missions, mental or physical. Trust me on that one.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them while Steve processed Tony’s words. He sifted through layers of denial and shock at the accusation about his old friend, and focussed on Tony’s vulnerability, the soft lighting of the room, the warmth of his leg, of his hand, of his expression, the hesitation in his words as he spoke, the way his voice cracked over the word ‘scars’, his distantly focussed eyes, fixed on some point a few feet over Steve’s shoulder.

Then it hit him, the kid raised with everything in the world, who grew up on a full stomach served on a silver platter, with butlers and nannies. But had seen the photos. He also had a mother with a distant, not quite there look in her eyes, and a father whose hand gripped his son’s shoulders just a little too tight. He’d seen the posed magazine shots, the news articles and clippings, the interviews and old videos, he’d watched them to combat a particularly bad bout of nostalgia (read: homesickness) a year or so back.

“I didn’t know, Tony, I’m sorry, I-“ He took deep breath, channelling the sudden surge of anger into the hand not on Tony’s leg, which could clench and dig nails in all it liked. He should have known, “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t, no one did, except mom, of course, maybe Jarvis too, the man did his best to keep me out of dad’s way, but it wasn’t easy, especially not when he’d had a few, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, you put something in that coffee?” He sniffed the mug suspiciously, and Steve let out a humourless laugh.

“No, I just came down to talk, to see how you were, nothing in particular,” he lied, “general stuff.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Tony replied, an eyebrow raising into the perfect picture of scepticism that so well defined his face, “because that’s a thing you do. Spit it out Rogers, what do you want to say?”

Steve took a moment to evaluate the situation, and decided that it was apparently confession time, so fuck it.

“I was wondering something.”

“Well duh, what was it?”

“If you had any thoughts about the whole, you know, gay thing.”

“The ‘gay thing’?”

“Yeah, the community, with the letters.”

“The ‘letters’?”

“If you’re just gonna laugh I’m going.” Tony stifled his weak giggles.

“I’m not laughing, it’s just you’re clearly trying and it’s adorable, like a grandpa trying to respect pronouns but just getting it all wrong.” He cleared his throat and let out a few more poorly contained laughs.

“So, you got thoughts or not?”

“Oh, me? Many. So many, one of the many things that pissed of daddy dearest, actually. One too many sleepovers and one too many Captain America posters, so he shipped me off to boarding school in England. In a twist of fate, I had some of the best nights of my life in those dormitories. Your good self?”

Steve blinked through the sudden onslaught of mental images depicting Tony’s teenage escapades with the background of his own vintage posters, fed by the many digital images he’d found online one very, very weird evening. It was only after Tony prompted him that he remembered Tony’s question.

“Cat got your tongue? Still working things out? Died a virgin? What is it?”

“I haven’t died yet, Stark, and I worked things out a long time ago. Mostly.”

“Well?”

“It wasn’t really talked about back then, didn’t have name or a goddamn flag, you just hoped no one found out.”

“Yeah, no shit, welcome to most of history, but what was the result of your soul searching back in the dark ages?”

“I guess, I like both, pretty much. Some more than others, naturally, but I never thought that what was in someone’s pants made them any more or less beautiful.”

Tony groaned in response.

“God, you’re such a sap, go make an aesthetic Pinterest board.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means same here, I get that, the whole shebang, it’s sickening isn’t it?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

They passed the next few seconds in companionable silence, Steve occasionally running his thumb over the side of Tony’s knee, Tony doing the same with his hand over Steve’s wrist.

“So, Aunt Peggy, huh, she can’t have been the only one you had eyes for if you had your big gay panic pre-ice-cap.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Let me guess, wicked shot, brunet, twisted sense of humour, calls you out at every opportunity, you had it bad for Buckaroo up there, got to be. Who’d blame you? Hell, he was my second favourite Commando, and I didn’t even know the guy. One hell of a smile on him.”

Steve was stock-still for a second, wondering at how close Tony’s been to the right conclusion and how horrendously wrong he’d gotten it, and how he was definitely going to have to let him think he’s right there, because the alternative is too awful to contemplate.

But then, he’d think it’s always been Bucky, that Peggy had been second and anyone else would too. Now, he’d be the first to admit that his feelings towards Buck hadn’t always been PG, but there was never anything there, they’d kill each other if they tried to make something of it, they weren’t meant to be, weren’t made to fit. He couldn’t let Tony think he loved Bucky, the guy’s upstairs and Stark’s, despite what the media claims, a good guy, a good friend. What other option did he have except the truth?

“Your dad, actually.”

There was a whole lot of silence in the room after that. Steve kicked himself, Tony had just said what his father had been to him, what he had done, more or less, and here was Steve saying he’d loved the man.

No, loved wasn’t the right word, neither was lust. He’d been intrigued, pulled in by the carefree, happy-go-lucky, daredevil attitude. The man willing to try anything once, even if the risks were momentous. The man with the right line on his lips and the right gleam in his eye to get him anything,  anywhere, and anyone he wanted. The man that looked and acted so much like Tony but lacked the honeyed warmth in his eyes and heart. But there had always been something wrong, something ever so slightly off, something that just smelled a little of danger. Steve had never pursued it, thankfully, but he’d never taken his eyes off the guy either. He’d imagined how he might look like outside of the war and the madness of it all, and it had given him chills, not always the good kind.

Not that he’d conveyed any of that to Tony, who was still staring into space, his hand long since withdrawn from Steve’s, and his knee bouncing uncontrollably.

“I didn’t mean that how it sounded, I’m sorry that was insensitive and stupid-“

“No, it was, it was true, I respect that, I need to get some work done, could you just, be, somewhere else, for a bit, I’m just really busy, got to finish off that arm and send it up to Barnes, so if you could-“

“He has the arm already Tony, I know that, you’re trying to get rid of me, I get it, I’m sorry, just let me explain, I never felt like that towards him-“

“That’s not what you literally just said, like ten seconds ago.”

“I know, but it’s true, it wasn’t like Peggy, no one was like Peggy-“

“But I’ll bet no one was like dad either, he had that effect on people, some kind of magnetism, I’ve heard it all before, usually followed by, ‘are sure that’s really what happened, or just how you remember it?’ Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, so if you could just leave now, that’d be swell.” He stood up and brushed Steve off, moving to lean against his work bench, hanging his head, his eyes screwed up in concentration, on what? Steve had no idea.

“I’m not going, just let me explain-“

“I don’t want you to, I need you to go, Steve, please.”

There was something quiet and broken about the way the word ‘please’ fell from his lips that made Steve want to scoop him up in his arms and hold him through the night, but as Steve’s hands moved towards him, Tony’s entire body shuddered away from him, and his hand fell away, useless.

“Just go, Rogers.” His voice was hardened this time, his fingers white with the force he was squeezing the table.

And so, Steve did the only thing he felt he could.

He left.

~ 5 ~

Steve and Stark weren’t the same around each other anymore, and it was really starting to piss Bucky off.

It was one thing for Stark not to be interested, but he’d seen those wandering eyes when he thought no one was watching, and they landed on Cap’s ass every goddamn time. As soon as Steve started walking away, Tony practically whistled. And, from the little Steve would tell him, that’s not what happened. This was different, Tony had gone into lockdown, only coming out of the lab once in a blue moon, shipping up tech and gear through JARVIS and DUM-E, and when he did leave, it was straight to the penthouse with music loud enough to almost cover up the occasional sob. That was the downside with living with a bunch of super soldiers and assassins, as well as the odd minor deity, there’s not an ounce of privacy.

Bucky liked to watch how people moved around each other, one part of the training Hydra gave him that he actually found some comfort in: knowing where he fit, and how the bigger machine worked. Who went to who for what? Who wanted what from him? How he should deal with who when what happened? That kinda thing.

In the tower it was simple: you want to fight? Thor’s the answer. You want to blow some shit up? Go to Tony. Feel like relaxing and pretending your problems don’t exist? Bruce is your man. Want to stir up some shit and cause trouble? Clint’s the guy. Want to get drunk on the strongest goddamn vodka ever to come out of a bathtub? Tasha’s got some and will share it if bribed with dirt on other teammates (read: Steve). Want to have someone hear out your feelings, say some motivational bullshit, and then pester you about it for a week? That’s Steve’s whole thing.

Then there were the combos: the extreme rooftop frisby between Steve, Thor, and Clint; Tony and Bruce setting the kitchen on fire again because they just _had_ to put something weird in the microwave; Bucky and Romanoff speaking Russian and convincing Clint that they’re planning something evil; Steve and Bucky’s long bike rides to Coney Island, or the old neighbourhood, just to remind themselves that the more things change, the more they stay the same, and people still overcharge for ice cream cones down there, it’s just different numbers.

But the best one, was the ‘Team Dads’, as Clint dubbed them, and their morning arguments over stupid shit, or the old ‘how much coffee is too much coffee’ debate at three AM, or the ‘Can I actually fight the president in my suit, or would that be too much bad press for even Pepper to deal with?’ one which seemed to switch sides every three minutes. The way they moved around each other as fluidly in the kitchen as they did on the battlefield, always got each other’s back, no matter the situation, a rule made even more important since the colossal screw up over the accords. They both knew neither of them could survive that again, there wasn’t any coming home the next time that happened.

So, they started talking.

Little things at first: music, films, books, tech questions from Steve, art ones from Tony. Slowly the walls of the tower were filled with either Steve’s work, or ones he’d always wasted the few dollars they had going and staring at in a gallery for hours on end. Then JARVIS started changing how he spoke, he never used the jargon he used with Tony when Steve was in the room, hell he didn’t even say all the quotes and jokes Tony programmed into him around Steve, except ones from the shows the team had binged together. Steve was still a little convinced that JARVIS was some guy cooped up in a cupboard behind Tony’s lab or something, but baby steps.

So, when they just cut each other out, just like that, it kinda made Bucky want to scream, because he didn’t have the energy to rejig his entire view of the team right now, he had other shit to deal with. It couldn’t go on, and that revelation left him with one option: fix it.

He watched Stark like a hawk, trying to figure out exactly what went wrong, and it took him about ten seconds in total, testament to Steve’s powers of observation.

The scene was as follows: Tony and Steve making breakfast at the kitchen counter, one buttering toast, the other fiddling with the coffee machine.

Tony’s focus was on Steve, his eyes shot out every few seconds, and he kept his body carefully poised to not lean anywhere near the guy.

Steve’s was similar, but much less subtle, and much less calm, every time Tony moved a finger, Steve’s eyes were on his arms, his hands, then up to his face, every time Tony ignored him, he dug his knife a little sharper into his toast.

The tension was clearly thicker than the bread, because at a slip of his hand, the knife went through, and scraped loudly across the plate with the high-pitched shriek found only in the meeting of metal and ceramic. At the sound, Tony’s eyes shot to Steve, his hand to his chest, and his whole body shuddered. The only acknowledgement was the continued angry toast buttering, and the slight pause in coffee machine faffing.

To conduct an experiment, Bucky clattered his spoon in his bowl in one of the brief moments when Tony’s eyes were on him. No reaction.

Bucky continued to sip his coffee and eat his cereal, waiting for Steve to mumble something about taking a run, like he had every day this week, ever since The Event, and then spoke to Tony.

“Can I ask you something?” Stark quirked an eyebrow in response.

“You just did.”

“You know what I mean asshole.”

He paused a minute, before nodding with a jerky motion.

“Is it Germany, Siberia, or something else?”

Confusion and a brief flare of panic passed over his face before he replied.

“What are you talking about?”

“When Rogers moves too fast, or speaks too loud, or gets too close.” His expression was blank, so Bucky went on, “I get it too, you know, when Natalia says certain things in Russian, or my arm malfunctions, or anything grips it in the wrong place, I’m back there.” He let out a short laugh, “Hell, sometimes I just wake up there and I can’t get out all day. This shit happens. So, what is it for you? Combination? None of the above? What?”

There was all long stretch of silence between them, in which Bucky maintained eye contact, and didn’t make a sound, or move a muscle, used every non-threatening interrogation technique he knew, because this all needed to stop. When Tony spoke again, his voice was cracked and quiet.

“Siberia, and other stuff. It- it comes, and it goes, but it’s, it’s always Rogers.” He chuckled weakly, “Had to be Rogers, didn’t it?” He shook his head and hid his face in his coffee mug.

“He know?”

“Some of it.”

“You told him that night?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he do to screw it up?”

Tony’s eyes shot up and met his.

“What, you don’t know? Well, turns out he had it bad for my dad, told me that right after I told him how the guy used to- to…” He shook his head and turned away, Bucky could see his hand shaking and the red-wetness of his eyes.

Fucking Rogers, stupid punk. Bucky sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, trying to figure out how to word the fact that Steve wanted to punch Howard about as much as he wanted to cop a feel.

“He wanted the guy, but he couldn’t stand him, not really. Howard was the guy everyone hated to love and loved to hate, in equal measure. He was damn handy to have around, fixed anything you could even think about breaking, and he kept you on your toes, but no one woulda left him alone with their girl, their kid, hell even their dog, Dum Dum tried that, didn’t end well for anyone involved. Peggy was the only one who could handle him, didn’t take any of his crap, not one bit. They had a stake out together once, some mission in France. Steve spent the whole time muttering something about cheese and bread, I thought he’d finally cracked, we were gonna have to put Captain America in a strait jacket or something.”

“He didn’t trust her?”

“He trusted her more than anything, he didn’t trust him, and we’d all heard the stories. Stark, trust me, between you and your old man, there’s no competition, you’ve got everything he had, but you’re everything he wasn’t, and that’s plain as day.”

Tony nodded, still staring into the bottom of his cup, so Bucky gave him a minute to chew things over before continuing.

“If I tell Rogers to reign in his puppy like enthusiasm, will you talk to him? He’s been moping about playing Glenn Miller for ages, if I hear Moonlight goddamn Serenade one more time, I’m gonna do that thing Peter keeps saying, what is it again?”

“Don’t ‘yeet’ yourself from anything, I’ll talk to him. I’m also talking to Peter,” His sombre expression broke, as it usually did when it came to the kid, “Corrupting senior citizens is unacceptable.”

“We’ll see. Just talk to him, he’s stupid but he’s not a total dick. Also, he needs to get some, like soon. He’s been punching that bag way too much and I wish that was a metaphor. It’s ridiculous. It’s been like seventy years; he needs to get laid.” The change of tone had done its job, Tony’s face lifting into a smirk and he eyes widening with the influx of, no doubt, downright obscene mental images filling his mind.

“I don’t wanna hear about what happens after you talk by the way, I saw way too much of Steve’s ass in our army days, I’d like to leave my eye bleaching days behind me. Also, heads up, he does not know how to lock a door, never learnt, I don’t know how, and I hate him for it, so, make an effort or I’ll sick Romanoff on you both.”

Tony laughed, long and loud, before a though dawned on him.

“Wait, why his ass, where were these encounters, we talking against walls, in beds, what?” Bucky snorted and got up to leave, that’s a job for the imagination, “Buckaroo, don’t leave me hanging like that!”

“You’ll have to find out in your own time, Stark, I ain’t bringin’ those memories back up from the void, not for a million bucks.”

“What about twenty?” Tony called after him, through the closing elevator doors.

One down, one to go.

Bucky waited for Steve in his room, and practically pounced on him when he came in, soaked through with sweat and smelling like a teenager, but that could wait.

“Sit down, I gotta talk to you.”

Steve’s head whipped round to where Bucky was relaxed on his bed.

“How long you been here?”

“Since breakfast,” he threw the ball in his hand, hitting Steve square in face, he didn’t even try and dodge it. “Stop looking like a dear in headlights, sit your ass down, I gotta talk to you.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the edge of his bed, facial expression not changing.

“I spoke to Stark.” Yeah, that changed it quite a bit. He went from fearful anticipation, to spluttering, frustrated, embarrassed, little skinny kid in under a second.

“What the hell, Buck, I said I’d deal with it- You had no goddamn right, what if you made it worse, I mean, what the hell were you thinkin- what the hell was that for?” Bucky kicked him sharply in the side.

“Shut up, and listen to what he said.” Steve frowned for a moment more before nodding slightly. “You said you liked Howard right after he said the guy was an asshat, and he freaked and figured you liked him more, or didn’t believe him or something, I told him about how Howard was with us, the shit we used to say about him, and about that time he was on that stake out with your girl,”

“Just cheese and bread my ass.”

“Exactly. So, I told him all that, and I figured out the pulling back thing too, wanna hear it from me or him?”

Steve hesitated for a moment, “You think he’ll tell me? After all that?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “No, I’m asking to fuck with you in this serious matter of your bleeding hearts, yeah he’ll talk to you, you just gotta bear a few things in mind, is all.”

“Alright, sure, yeah, anything.” The miserable bastard’s eyes lit up at the prospect.

“Okay, so you remember when you grabbed my arm after I woke up from a nightmare and I knocked you on your ass in one punch? You had to have a brain scan and shit cause of the glass and the healing and everything.”

Steve nodded, his brow wrinkled in his cartoonishly desperate concentration as he tried to figure out how the hell that related to Tony, goddamn idiot.

“We agreed that you just shouldn’t grab my arm ever, and especially when I’ve just woken up, and especially not up here,” He gestured to his bicep, “And it hasn’t happened since.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You know how Tasha doesn’t say any of the words from that goddamn book in Russian? No matter how weird it makes the conversation sound without some numbers, because she said ‘nine’ once and I broke a glass with the wrong hand, had to get stitches.”

“Yeah, obviously, I mean they’ve screwed with you long enough, we’re not gonna carry on doing it.”

“You’re still not getting this, are you?”

“Use small words.” Bucky sighed.

“Okay, so remember that time you and me took a day trip to Siberia, and it ended with a shield in the guy’s chest? Try not to do shit like that. Talkin’ too loud, movin’ too fast, getting’ too close when he’s havin’ a moment, just back off, calm down, and let him do shit first. Okay?”

Steve nodded, clearly still having issues with the connection there, but hell, he did his bit, the rest is Stark’s problem.

“Now go talk to him, he’ll be around, probably waiting for you on silk sheets by now.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. Go, now, go, I can’t look at your stupid sad face anymore, get outta here!”

Steve tried to laugh but seemed to choke and sigh at the same time instead, like a cat with a furball, and Bucky had had enough.

As he turned to leave, another thought hit him, and if Steve screwed that up, Bucky was gonna have to kill them both.

“Oh, and Steve, for the love of God don’t talk about his dad, you fuckin idiot.”

~ +1 ~

Ever since Bucky spoke to him, Tony had been pacing the penthouse, drink in shaking hand, heart racing, the conversation playing over and over in his head.

Maybe Steve had just put his foot in it, maybe he believed Tony, maybe Tony had an ally in this, maybe he’d just back off and let Tony think. Their relationship had always been toe-to-toe, throwing insults back and forth, competing, one-upping, general pettiness and childishness, mostly his fault, but that’s just how they worked. But lately, that turned into a pendulum, swinging from quiet intimate moments where you could hear a pin drop, to angry and bitter words spat so loud he couldn’t hear himself think. There was no in between with them, not anymore, not since everyone came back, not since Siberia, barely since Sokovia.

It was exhausting.

So now, the thought that maybe, just maybe, they could sort out their shit, well… It was a dream come true. And from what Bucky said, maybe a couple of other dreams too…

But those were thoughts for another time. Now he needed to figure out what to say, now that he had Rogers' ear.

We made his way over to his bar, started refilling his glass when the elevator dinged, he looked up at the wrong time, glass overflowed, hand slipped, bottle to the floor, glass everywhere-

“Oh, shit!”

“Language,” Steve said, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, voice low, looking the absolute picture of casual elegance and grace – impressive for a man wearing his own branded t-shirt and joggers, both stained with sweat.

“I feel like we’re past that now, you gonna help me with this?” He jerked a nod down to the glass, and Steve chuckled, coming over to help.

Their hands brushed once or twice as they carefully picked up the pieces of fractured glass, their eyes locking on occasion, but they didn’t speak. Tony noticed that Steve’s movements were uncharacteristically slow, considered, predictable.

“I guess Barnes spoke to you then. What’d he say?”

“Not much, just gave me a few pointers, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t want to push you. If you want me to go I will, but I want to explain and I want to hear what’s been going on with you - if that’s alright with you, of course.” He spoke hesitantly, stumbling over his words and without an ounce of eye contact the whole time.

“Jesus, Rogers, you’re killing me, grab a seat, I’ll make you a drink – yeah, I know, it doesn’t work, but I don’t care, it’ll be expensive and taste good – then we can figure this shit out. Skywalker told me how you guys really saw my dad and, to be honest, it’s too good to be true. Maybe you all had some sixth sense, maybe you saw something no one else in the whole of the century did, but I knew Peggy, she was practically my goddamn aunt – and I didn’t get to go to her funeral because of you, by the way, so think on that one - but she didn’t say shit, not once. So, I’m sorry if I don’t just believe you, because it’s been decades Rogers, and you’re special, sure, but you and your old war buddies didn’t all have one-in-a-million special world views.” The more he spoke, the more he felt his calm façade splitting and leaving him wide open and vulnerable. His voice went up an octave, he fought back tears, the whole shebang. Steve looked shaken to his core at the sight.

He moved over to sit on the sofa before saying: “Buck said not to talk about your dad.”

“Steve, I don’t give a shit what Barnes said, tell me the truth.”

He took a deep breath before he spoke, ran a hand over his face.

“We needed him, everyone needed him. The world was screwed back then, and no one had the tools to fix it, except him. So, we kept him sweet, no matter what he did. Well, most people did anyway, I hated it.” He sighed, accepting the drink Tony offered him, tipping it down in one.

“You couldn’t help but be impressed, the charm, the fancy suits, the tech talk, the gadgets, the showing off, the girls, thelight show, everything you do to blow people away, he did all that. But he was hiding something, everyone knew it, but no one gave a damn, not while the war meant we still needed weapons, and from what I understand, the war didn’t just end with Hitler and the Red Skull, it just dragged on and on, Tony… The man intrigued me, sure. I had a thing for him, few dreams I’m not proud of after going to the expo once. Hell, the first time I saw him, it was like magic. But I was just a kid. Then he was there when I got the serum, and he helped me save Bucky, and he gave me the shield, it was one thing after another. Yeah, he was a handsome guy, but I didn’t trust him with Peggy and I never knew where I stood with him, it’s just different. With you, it’s different. It’s always been different.”

“For one, my gadgets never impressed you.”

“Maybe not outwardly.”

“We’re gonna talk about that later.”

They didn’t speak for a moment, instead Tony just let his eyes wander over Steve, a big ‘what if’ flashing in neon lights.

The afternoon sun filtered in from the, frankly ridiculous, windows behind Steve and cast a golden shadow over him where he sat on the leather sofa, Tony’s drink in his hand now, sweat still glistening on his skin from whatever marathon length jog he’d been on earlier.

“Hey, Rogers, tell me something.”

“Anything.”

“You ever kissed a fella?”

“Yes.”

“This side of the millennium?”

No reply, which really said it all, except a slight movement. Steve slowly placed his hand on Tony’s knee, a mimic of how they’d sat in Tony’s workshop that night, his thumb slowly rubbing back and forth over the bone through Tony’s jeans. Staying in familiar territory then.

“You want to?”

“Living here, in the tower, with you? It’s hard not to. But we’re not done talking yet Tony, you know that.” Tony had to stifle a sarcastic yawn at the words.

“Question for a question then, a compromise.” Steve nodded.

“You first then, go ahead.”

Tony thought for a moment: “How often do you think about Siberia?”

Steve sighed, “On bad days, I think about it constantly, I’ve said sorry before, but I’ll say it again. I couldn’t lose Buck, but shouldn’t have forced you out too, shouldn’t have left you there, shouldn’t have lied to you, shouldn’t have…” shaking his head, he muttered something unintelligibly

“Huh?” Tony asked, only partially fishing for more apologies.

“Shouldn’t have gone for the reactor, I didn’t think, I just, I just saw him again, and a chance to have him back, and I was blinded, and I hurt you, bad, and I’m sorry.”

The memory flashed in Tony’s brain again, his hand came up to his chest, reflexively, but there wasn’t the usual panic, there wasn’t the fear, he was safe, he could watch that one from a distance, he didn’t have to relive it.

“Your turn.”

 “Apart from your dad, the reactor -  I see those now, it’s like Bucky and his arm, or the words, he mentioned it but it didn’t click – apart from those, what do I not do, not mention, how do I, I don’t know, keep you here, not freak you out, how do I try and fix this?”

Tony let out a laugh.

“Fix it? I’ll let you know when I do, but as for the other, triggers, I suppose. Well, New York used to be a bad one, aliens and wormholes were a no go for a while, but I got help with that. These days, its mainly the reactor, the childhood stuff, the whole abandonment thing. Mainly it’s you, to be honest, Steve.” He chuckled, “You move too fast, speak too loud, I don’t know it just sets me off. Ironic isn’t it, I had to go and fall in love with the guy who gives me panic attacks with a wrong word-umph”

Tony’s words were cut off by the soft press of lips against his. His eyes closed, and the warm press of the hand on his knee squeezed. After a second, Steve pulled back.

“That okay?”

“Shut up, Rogers.”

Tony recaptured his lips with his own, bringing his hands up to tangle in blonde hair, revelling in the warmth and softness of his mouth, and, someone give him a goddamn medal, he even kept it pretty chaste for a good few seconds before something seemed to snap in the air, and suddenly, it just wasn’t enough.

He tugged at Steve’s bottom lip with his teeth, running his tongue along the seam, until they parted with a sigh, and gave him the access he needed.

Within a minute, Steve was lying against the arm of the sofa, a wriggling Tony on his lap, their bodies pressed together wherever they could, hands tangled in hair, buttons flying, asses squeezed, the air thick with their breath, coming in quick pants, not a single thing separating them for long.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Drop me a comment to let me know how I did, it feeds my soul & gives me life.  
> Anyone who gets the title reference gets a gold star, one of my fav MCU lines.  
> Also, you wouldn't think writing smut would scare someone who's read as much of it as I have, but there we go! One day I'll do it, maybe this'll get a steamy epilogue.


End file.
